


What Do You Want for Christmas?

by Fox_the_Clever_Turnip



Series: Dusk & Roan [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Bitterness, Christmas, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gifts, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 08:24:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2844461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_the_Clever_Turnip/pseuds/Fox_the_Clever_Turnip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Roan and Dusk work out their clone-related, post-apocalyptic bitterness toward each other. Sort of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Do You Want for Christmas?

**Author's Note:**

> One more in the Cloneverse. Spin-offs of larger work have kind of been my bread and butter lately. Enjoy. =]

“What do you want for Christmas?” Roan asks, tilting his head, that grin always inviting a lewd thought. It wasn't a surprise, really. I never could count on him to be serious about anything, even during the times when Amelie set him on me. He always had a joke to make, even when I was in the bathroom mirror, mopping up my own blood. It was ridiculous, and irritating, but I can't help but smile as well.

"How about a permanent place to live?" I shoot back, arms folded. One safe house was as good as the next, sure, but it's been getting old for a while now. Running, scavenging, hoping no one recognized us who might be linked with Amelie. there was little doubt she'd put out an APB for her rogue lap dog and one of the most useful tools she'd had, thus far, at her disposal.

That's me. Hi.

Roan shakes his head and crosses the room--an old motel room on the side of the interstate heading up into Rhode Island. We've been running for months, since August, always just ahead of Amelie.

"Why not something more... intimate?" he purrs and kneels down on the old mustard-colored carpet in front of me.

"A home is intimate."

Roan's smile fades and he draws back, nodding a bit. "I know. I want to give it to you more than anything, Dusk, and I will. Soon. I think it's too soon to settle right now, though. Amelie will track us down. We need to run until she gets bored and leaves us alone awhile. Gives us time to blend. We can't keep ahead of her if we sit still."

He's right. I know he is. Roan's all dark hair and flashy smiles, but he's smarter than people give him credit for. Amelie overlooked that in him, assumed he was just a stupid, obedient puppy. Just like she wanted.

Roan is brilliant and sharp and fucking lethal, when he wanted to be. It was his purpose when they made him, to be a total killing machine--all stealth and strength and a complete lack of remorse in the field. He could black out his concern for others, his moral code, anything that might hinder 'The Job.' And that's why he fucked me up so many times. Amelie told him to. He didn't want to, I knew he didn't. He apologized before and after, but never failed to drag me back to her. He just wanted purpose, and Amelie gave it to him.

He still wants purpose, but now he's got me and our quest for....

I don't even know. Freedom? A life? Death?

"I'll tell you what," he says, turning on the ball of his right foot and plunking back against the wall beside me. "I'll find us, _make_ us a home. Before spring, okay? I promise. For now, though... what do you want for Christmas?"

I laugh. "I won't hold you to it. I know how things are. Christmas isn't a thing anymore, Roan. In case you hadn't noticed, that 'what do you want for Christmas' shit hasn't been a thing since the first one… after the evac.” "So?" Roan laughs and leans over to give me a nudge with his elbow. "You remember it, though, right? The decorations and the singing and the happiness?"

"Vaguely," I reply, glancing over with a faint smile. Roan can be adorable when he wants to be. "Not like I had the option to participate, though. You, either. We go to watch from the outside while kids on TV opened presents and everyone at the labs left us shut up in our dorms so they could go to the company parties. There was garland and even a sickly Christmas tree made out of metal and plastic... they pulled it out every year and it was such an ugly thing. We weren't even allowed to decorate. It was pre-decorated."

Roan nods and chuckles. "Our Christmas privileges were an hour extra of TV in the common room, one candy cane each, and gross, processed turkey dinner. But it was nice. I mean, not _perfect_ , but who cares? It was different from what we always got, and I kind of liked it."

So did I. I'll never say it out loud. That place was hell for me, for everyone who got landed there. There were experiments and a prison-like atmosphere most of the time. Extensive training for clones like Roan, and drills and schooling for clones like me. Some of us were meant to be soldiers and others were... just more cerebral. Still, it was one of the best facilities in the country, as far as getting results went.

"You're so hell bent on Christmas this year, what do _you_ want?" I ask, a smile blossoming on my lips when Roan throws an arm around my shoulders and pulls me close to his side.

"Wine. And... real food. And a fire."

"That's not Christmas," I laugh. "That’s a date."

Roan's forehead plunks against the top of my head and I feel his breath on my temple. It's soothing. "We've never had a date. It's all I want. Just that. I don't even care about the real food or the wine, just you and me and a fire. No problems or running or fighting. I think we deserve it, don't you? More than anything else, just a night together."

"Jesus... we never have had a date, have we? Not a proper one, anyway. I don't think proper dates suit us, though. I really think we'd be more apt to settle on heavy drinking, rough fucking, and a good night's sleep."

"Add some mistletoe to that, and you've got yourself a Christmas," he snickers, nipping the top of my ear gently.

I shiver. He knows how to get me going. Before I know it, I'm in his lap, straddling his waist, both hands giving the front of his shirt a tug. I never know how I get there. It always just sort of happens. The man is a magnet. "I don't know where to find mistletoe, but I'll do my best." My mouth closes over his and he makes a quiet noise into the kiss. His arms snake around my waist and I can't help but melt a bit closer. Did we really need mistletoe? Everything about this moment was better than I remembered ever having with Roan. We were independent and alone. Sought after, maybe, but at least we were here, and on our own terms.

"I love you," he purrs against my lips, giving the lower a firm nip that rips a gasp out of me. Blissful soreness will be the perfect reminder later.

"I know," I whisper, kissing him harder. I love him, too. I want to say it and instantly regret that I hadn't when he pulls back sharply and gives me that look....

"How about you give me _that_ for Christmas?" he says softly, the disappointment pulling his voice into a lower, bluer register.

I nod. I don't know what to say or do, but I hate knowing that I can hurt him so easily. So strong and capable a person, so easily crushed by what he might perceive as rejection. It isn't that. I could never reject him. In all the terrible situations we've been in--that he's caused and I've caused and other people have pushed us into--I've never once considered pushing him away completely. What does that say about me? Glutton for punishment, maybe. Emotional masochist. I love him more than anything, but to force that out....

"You know I do—"

"Do _what_? You can't even say it, and I don't know why I care that you can't." Roan pushes my hands gently off of his shoulders, not rushing, not _angry_ , just... disappointed. I'm nauseated by the prospect that I've hurt him too badly. He doesn't trust people, not even me, most of the time. Not in the way that most couples distrust each other, though. He doesn't trust me at his back because he knows I don't have the physical strength to hold that position.

"Please don't be upset," I venture, leaning in again, only to be gently pushed back.

"I'm not."

"You are. I do feel it, even if... it's hard to..." I curse and scrub my face with my palms, finally pushing myself to my feet and backing up a bit. I know he wants me off of him, I just didn't want to have to give up the position. "I don't know why I can't say it! I don't know why, after everything, I can't even... it's just *hard." I throw my hands up and pace a lap around the room.

Roan doesn't move. He sits on the floor, legs straight out, palms planted on the floor at his sides. I don’t know if he intends to get up or... just sit there.

"Stop staring at me!" I snap, and instantly recoil. "I'm sorry. I am. I'm an asshole, but it's not like you didn't know that about me."

"It's part of what makes me love you. I just wish... it was different. I wish _we_ were different."

“We’re not different. We’re not going to _be_ different. Can we compromise?” I ask, taking two steps to cross the battered old motel room, running my fingertips along the threadbare bedspread.

Roan glances up at me, head tilted, those stunning brown eyes burning into me. He was gorgeous for a man made to be pretty but plain—maximize stealth and the ability to blend, but still attractive enough to make it easy for him to get what he wanted. From me, he could have had anything, and I still couldn’t get my mouth around those three words.

“You know I’ll do anything for you. I let you drag me back to the Conclave time and again. Not because I was afraid you’d kill me—and you damn well might have, brainwashed like you were by that bitch—but because you’d wear me down until I was so hurt by watching you have no trouble beating me over her, that I’d give in just to make it stop. You’re terrifying, you know, when you’re like that.”

“That’s the point,” he says and draws his knees up so that he can rest his wrists on top of them. “I look scary, people cave. That’s the name of the game. I’m sorry for everything I did, but if it means you can’t love me—”

“That’s not what it means! It means... It means I that I want you to see how I feel about you, that it's not just... words. I know it's probably annoying that i can't say it, but... Let's compromise." I take another step close and settle beside him on the floor again. Everything in the room smells musty and it's so much more pungent near the floor. "Let's... just... see what Christmas brings, right? I would do anything for you, Roan, you have to know that."

"I do... I sort of do, I guess. I know we've been through a lot and I want you to understand how much it means to me that you actually wanted me to come with you when we ran. I was content just to cover you and take the fire until you were long gone," he says, and slips his arm around me again. Thank fuck. I was afraid this really was going to end in a fight. We were doing so well.

"I would never let you take fire for me."

Roan grimaces. "I've caused so much for you, though. It was the least I could have done."

"Well, now you can protect me for good, right? I'm fucking helpless in a fight," I joke, leaning my head against his collarbone. He's so warm. That gross smell of must and dirt just doesn't matter when I'm near him. He's perfect.

Roan laughs. "You're far from it. You stabbed me that one time."

"Because you thought I wouldn't fight back. That was oversight on your part, not skill on mine," I smile and lean up, peppering the left side of his jaw in soft kisses. I do love him. Christ Almighty, I do love him more than anything.

"Maybe. But it surprised me. It was impressive. You've always been a fighter, even if you’ve never been trained. I can help with that, you know.” He’s grinning, all unhappiness about our previous disagreement lost in the prospect of training a novice in any sort of combat… whatevers.

I’m not a fighter.

“I don’t know about that. I’ve made it this far, haven’t I? I think I’ll be alright,” I insist, closing my eyes.

“Yeah, but it’s not getting less dangerous out there, Dusk. It’s getting worse. What if I can’t be there if you need me?” His concern is adorable and I can’t help laughing.

“The only danger I’ve faced so far is you, you fucking idiot. And you’re here now.”

“And Amelie will send more like me, only… not like me. I could hold back for you, make sure I fucked you up just enough to make you compliant—that’s a psychotic thing to say. It doesn’t sound psychotic until you’re out of the situation and discussing it like it’s normal.” Roan makes a face and I lean into him a little tighter.

“Yeah, I know, that’s true, but—”

“Please?”

I glance up to him, drawing back only slightly, just enough to look at him. He’s all tall, dark, and handsome and I never cease to be in awe of that. Believe it or not, he was an awkward teenager—limbs as lanky as a baby giraffe, which didn’t help since he was so damn tall. If ever there was a comical image…. Roan hasn't always been weird, though. I mean, he was once the most stable person I've ever known, and... things just happened. He has his odd moments in our adolescence, but, despite his lot in life, he's always been pretty happy-go-lucky. To an annoying degree. He makes jokes, acts obnoxious, and can really be an enormous ten year old most of the time.

"Well, you held back, I'm alive, and here we are. I think we should just enjoy that for Christmas, right?" I lean up and nuzzle his jaw. I feel like a kitten in the arms of a wolf sometimes, but I'll take it. It's sometimes kind of a good feeling.

"Yeah, we can enjoy that for Christmas. Maybe we'll get lucky. Maybe it'll snow," Roan grins and turns quickly, scooping me sideways until I plunk back onto the carpet with a yelp.

"It's gross down here!"

"We live in gross times," Roan shrugs and rolls his eyes a bit. Ass.

"It smells. If you're going to do... whatever you're doing, can we at least do it on the bed?" I ask, struggling, hoping the gross carpet smell doesn't seep into my clothes.

Not that they're really anything special.

"'Whatever I'm going to do...' Really?" He takes the front of my shirt in his fists and hauls me absolutely effortlessly up off the floor. I have no idea how he can get up from a face-down position with me in his arms, but Jesus Christ. I'm all gasping and flailing until he slides me onto the bed and I hit the headboard with a grunt.

"Son of a bitch—"

"Don't be a pussy."

Feebly, I throw a right hook, which he catches and twists above my head, peppering my neck with kisses as I struggle and curse at him.

“Let go,” I huff, wrenching my arm hard, though his grip didn’t falter. Not until he releases it himself and leans in to kiss my face as he had my neck—in a series of soft, peppered kisses.

“I love you, even if you can’t say it,” he whispers, the breath of his words on my cheek sending a shiver through me.

“I would do anything to make your life easier, to make you happy. It’s hard to say, but… I’ll do anything to prove I feel the same. I do feel the same,” I assure him, trying, _willing_ myself to force those words out and give him what he wants. No matter how deep down I reach—there’s just too much muddy bullshit between my brain and my feelings to find it. I force down a swallow and look away. “I’m really sorry.”

He kisses me. The anger and joking and self-pity that our relationship is sometimes just melts away and he presses against me, the hands holding me down now offer much gentler fare. Fingers slip softly through my hair on one side, while his firm hand holds my waist at the other. I’m content—I never knew how to be content with anyone else, in any other situation. Maybe it’s something programmed into Roan, maybe it’s the history we have together, but he _fits_ me. I won’t let that go, never willingly, or at all.

It was perfect, but it didn’t feel like Christmas.


End file.
